((To jog everyone's memory of this plot arc:
roleplayerguild.com/posts/4461084
roleplayerguild.com/posts/4463931
roleplayerguild.com/posts/4465821))

The soft roar of a torch and soft footfalls on cold stone tile were the only sounds that could be heard in the dank undercroft of Lord Octa's keep that served as the citadel's dungeon. The silence was perhaps somewhat surprising if one considered that Lord Octa's barons throughout the land kept thousands of prisoners in their dungeons. Those provincial gaols were teeming masses of humanity, all filled to the brim with the Dark Lord's numerous enemies. But the dungeons of Lord Octa's own citadel were all but empty. Most cells were empty or occupied only by the cobwebbed skeletons of forgotten souls that had been locked away over half a century ago - prisoners of the old kings rather than Lord Octa. The Dark Lord saw little use in keeping prisoners for long periods of time. Lord Octa kept his thralls for perhaps a fortnight before consuming their life essence.

But there were the occasional exception; rare prisoners that were more valuable to the Dark Lord than the life force he could siphon from their bodies. Agael, chamberlain of the Dark Lord, made his way through the dungeon to retrieve one such exception.

"Quiet!" The Chamberlain heard a low voice shush from one of the the few occupied cells in this dungeon. "Someone's coming!"

Agael stood before the rusted iron bars of the cell - little more than a claustrophobic alcove dug out of the rocky soil - holding his torch to the occupants to count and inspect the prisoners. Having spent the past few days in the darkness of the dungeon, the prisoners within squinted or averted their eyes from the brightness of the torchlight.

These were the prisoners who had arrived at the keep three days prior on a driverless gaol wagon, with a single prisoner missing. The Dark Lord, determined to find this escapee, dispatched the dread knight Vatikar and the she-elf - another arrival from the wagon - in a bid to bring the escaped prisoner back. Agael, however, suspected that there was one other prisoner from the wagon that might be of some use.

"Kedan Tobler," Agael said to the prisoners inside the cell, "present yourself."

"The little prince? He in 'ere somewhere." A toothless, wild-eyed prisoner replied. The other prisoners soon dragged the Tobler boy up from the corner in which he had been hunched up - either sleeping or keeping out of sight of the other prisoners - and shoved him up to the bars.

"I-I've done nothing wrong! I'm not a prisoner like them, I-I've committed no crime! I'm not like them!" Pleaded Kedan Tobler as his fellow prisoners pressed him up against the bars.

"Take 'im first!" A prisoner growled. "He's young yet; got a lot of life and vigor in 'im. Let the Dark Lord drain his life first."

Agael looked over the Tobler boy and his fellow prisoners, and took some measure of pity upon the young prince. The other prisoners were true criminals: horse thieves, robbers, and rapists. They richly deserved to have their life drained from their bones. But Kedan, Agael knew, had done nothing wrong. He had committed no crime against Lord Octa and in fact wasn't even a subject of the Dark Lord's realm. Kedan Tobler deserved none of this.

"I agree," Agael responded coldly. "Get back against the wall, all except for Kedan."

As Agael unlocked the cell's iron door, Kedan tried to get back against the wall, only to be shoved back to the door by the other prisoners. As Agael stepped inside to take Kedan away, they had practically shoved Kedan into his arms. Agael seized Kedan's wrist with a pale, bony hand, and pulled him through the door before slamming it shut behind them.

"I've committed no crime! Please do not do this!" Kedan pleaded as Agael dragged him through the corridors of the dungeon.

Once out of earshot of the other prisoners, the robed chamberlain released Kedan and turned to face him.

"Enough," Agael declared sternly. "Now listen: cooperate with me, Prince Tobler, and you will leave this country alive. But if you prove difficult then you will meet a similar fate to them," the chamberlain nodded back to the cell from which he had just been released.

"What do you know about this missing prisoner that the Dark Lord seeks? What do you remember about those who released her?"

If the Trickster and the Raven were the one and same person that the stories spoke about, then Rook did have a solid point. The stories had to be older than he himself was, which was far older than a normal human taken into account that Thaliar was a relatively young elf. An powerful elf none the less, but still young. "That's true, so the stories might be based on a common legend. Unless he, or she was an elf..."

-"...or he could be cursed!"

Thaliar turned his head slowly towards their prisoner who suddenly decided to speak up, and with a most peculiar statement. Leaning forward, the elf's green eyes locked onto Edwin's and stared deadly into them. "Cursed? What do you mean by that, young man?"

-"I..I've heard the story as well. The Raven...or Trickster as that Thing there said...he tried to steal the treasures buried down there, but had to flee when he was attacked by a beast!"

"And the curse?"

-"He...I don't know if it's true, but he told me that the beast spirits 'gifted' the Raven with prolonged life. But it was a curse, for the attack blinded him for life...Please don't blind me like him, it was just a story he told me to make me go away! Just a silly children's story!"

"Be quiet, prisoner." Thaliar interrupted Edwin at the end, his mind racing through the information they had just been given. And though it did sound like a children's story, Thaliar still proceeded with his question. "You said that He told you this story. Who was he?" It was a long shot, a really long shot in the dark, but desperate times and all that. They had to know.

-"Some old man in the village of...of...Greaweald! Old man with a staff, I don't know his name...Spoke to me like I was a child..."

Thaliar looked back up at his companions with a look of confusion and deep thought covering his face. This was weird, very very weird. "Do we believe the child?"

---

The guards did indeed take note of the old man making his way out of the tavern, and one mean-looking Black Hat stepped forward to physically stop Ragnar from leaving. The man grabbed firm hold of his staff, holding it back with force as he demanded to know where Ragnar was going. And on cue one of the other villagers reassured the Black Hat that no one was rushing of, which Ragnar took as an excellent oppertunity to fall. Flat. On his face. It sounded painful to everyone in the tavern.

Too bad for them that it was the oldest trick in the book. His book.

"What has this world come to, when the protectors of the Realm are attacking old defensless men in broad daylight? No, no, I'm fine. Thank you child." Ragnar said in his familiar and calm voice, getting a little help back on his feet and given the staff back by the Black Hat. It appeared that the old man was as harmless as he looked like, with those empty eyes and the way he supported himself with the staff. But the Black Hat, named Brutus after his great-great grandfather who fought in the Hill Wars and died in the Third Battle of Blood Stream, did catch sight of Ragnar giving a brief shake of his head towards Letha as she began to cry. He didn't know what was going on, but something was certainly afoot.

Ragnar reached out his hand to feel the door, and fumbled with it before getting outside the tavern. And though it was as dark as ever for Ragnar the Blind, he certainly could feel it be more open that the crowded tavern. Now the real task began.

Once Agael released him, Kaden took a few moments to collect himself, both mentally and emotionally. The dreadfulness of the memories of the Court of the Dead had diminished slightly in the past three days and he'd managed to almost convince himself that this was all some big mistake and that once it became clear who he was that he would be released. Anger had replaced some of the fear and he promised himself he would never forgive this transgression against him.

But he saw little he could do about it in his present situation.

"She was thrown in with us early in the morning," he answered finally, slowly. "A brown-haired woman of child bearing age. She was wounded, a gash to the leg."

An idea struck him suddenly that could maybe plant a seed of doubt about the loyalty of Octa's men without actually lying, something he was still leery would have unpleasant repercussions. "I saw the man who pulled her from the wagon very well," he said. "Long light brown hair, well trimmed beard, green vest and a gray cloak. He wore some sort of necklace with a purple stone." He paused, gauging Agael's reaction, hoping he recognized the description of the wagon's driver.